Pulling No Punches
by owlcroft
Summary: Boys will be boys, but when fists are thrown, someone can get hurt.


A/N: My response to "The Boxer" fic challenge. Many thanks to L.M.L. for the beta and the kind words.

PULLING NO PUNCHES

by

Owlcroft

Sarah climbed out of the taxi, leaning on Mark's arm as she said her thanks to the driver before he drove off. Hardcastle was stacking her suitcases on the front steps after having paid for her ride, and he turned just in time to catch her reaction to the bruise on McCormick's jaw.

"Mark!" she exclaimed, removing her hand from his support hastily. She extended her arm tentatively, nearly touching the garish green-purple-yellow bruise. "What happened to you?"

McCormick shot one quick glance at the apprehensive judge on the steps. "I, uh, ran into something. It's okay, really. I just have to be a little careful shaving is all."

The elderly housekeeper tilted her head and looked up at him, eyes skeptical. "Ran into something? A door, perhaps? Don't lie to me, Mark. Some low criminal hit you during one of His Honor's cases, didn't he?"

"Well," the glance Mark tossed to Hardcastle this time was gleeful, but still a trifle subdued. "You could put it that way."

"Come into the house. Your Honor, the bags should go to my room, please." She tugged at McCormick. "What did you put on it, Mark? The arnica? Did you use ice to keep the swelling down?"

The judge could hear her interrogating his sidekick all the way down the hall to the kitchen. Sighing, he picked up her two suitcases and carried them inside. He put the suitcases in the housekeeper's suite, then followed the sounds of a conversation back to the kitchen where he found Sarah closely inspecting McCormick's gaudy badge of conflict.

"I certainly hope and trust the miscreant is behind bars. Hold still," she added sharply. "Yes, that's one large bruise, from one large fist." She released her grip on his chin and turned to face Hardcastle, hands on her hips. "You seem to be unscathed, however. Honestly, I can't leave you two alone for two days much less two weeks without you getting into some sort of trouble." She shook her head and tsk'ed. "You did add assault and battery to the charges against whoever was responsible for this, Your Honor?"

"Ah, Sarah," Mark eased up from the kitchen chair, "really, it's no big deal. I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt any more. Honest."

"Nonsense." She glared at him and put a hand on his shoulder to push him back into the chair. "I'll make some nice soup tonight. Easy for you to eat. I'm sure the two of you haven't had a decent meal since you finished the casseroles I left for you. What's the name of this criminal and when is his arraignment, or have I already missed it?"

The judge closed his eyes, took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Actually, Sarah, _I _did it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did what, Your Honor?" she asked in a low tone.

"I punched him." Hardcastle shrugged, defensively nonchalant. "Once. Not a big deal."

A silence fell on the kitchen. Sarah's expression gradually changed from suspicion to disbelief to anger. "You hit Mark," she said quietly. "_You _hit him."

"Yeah, but we were just . . . kinda . . . you know . . ." The judge looked at McCormick for help in explaining.

Mark held up his hands, palms out. "Sarah, really, let us explain. He didn't mean to hit me . . . well, yeah, actually he _did_, but –"

"I don't want to hear it!" she said sharply. "I thought better of you, Judge Hardcastle. Hitting a man in Mark's position, subordinate to you. In your _custody_." She stopped herself, took a breath, made a visible effort to stay calm. "I am _deeply _disappointed in you!" she stated. "As for you," she turned to McCormick, "we'll have a little talk about this situation when I've calmed down. But he's never going to strike you again while _I'm _here!" She glared at them both impartially, then stalked off to her rooms.

"Um," Mark bit his lip briefly, "that didn't go over too well, did it?"

The judge tried for a normal tone, and nearly made it. "Ah, she'll get over being upset and we'll tell her how it happened and things'll be fine. You'll see."

ooooo

Dinner had been vegetable soup with soft rolls in the dining room and there had been no suggestion that they all eat together in the kitchen. McCormick got the last of the ice cream. The judge was offered some canned peaches. Everything was civil, if extremely stiff.

"Look, Sarah," Mark tried again, "if you'd just let us –"

"I've said I don't want to hear it. Or talk about it." Sarah cleared the table, darting fierce looks at the two men. She set down the stack of plates with an un-Sarah-like clatter. "You especially, Judge Hardcastle. I thought I knew you. I thought you were better than this." She picked up the plates again. "And you know how I feel about things like that. Physical violence toward an unarmed man." She set the plates back down again. "Ashamed, that's what you should be. I hope you at least apologized! But that's probably too much to ask." She grabbed the plates. "There's no excuse –"

"_Sarah!_" bellowed the beleaguered Hardcastle. When shocked silence reigned, he said in a quieter voice, but still loud, "I didn't mean to hurt him, okay? I figured he was gonna duck or dodge or something."

"I _don't _want to discuss it," she replied sternly and stalked into the kitchen.

Mark cleared his throat and contributed his mite. "I know you said you wanted to be the one to talk to her, but how about I go fetch your coffee and have a try at explaining? She's not gonna let _you_ get a word in."

Hardcastle shook his head. "I'll do it. She's my housekeeper."

"She's my _friend_. I'll go see what I can do." McCormick stood up, then wavered, irresolute. "You know," then he hesitated again before finishing, "she's only upset because you're so important to her."

"Yeah, I know," grumbled the judge. "Somebody thinks you let them down, it's tough to take. Yeah, okay." He nodded, then rested his chin on a palm. "Go see if she'll let _you_ explain."

Mark pushed the swinging door open cautiously and stuck his head into the kitchen. "You need any help carrying?" he asked.

"Thank you for asking, Mark, but I can handle it." Sarah was briskly rinsing dishes at the sink. "Did you want some milk instead of coffee? Or some lemonade? I made a pitcher while the soup was simmering."

"Nah, maybe later, thanks." McCormick leaned against the counter, folding his arms and watching Sarah load the dishwasher. "We swung at each other, you know," he said quickly. "It's just that I didn't connect."

She paused, shook her head as though to clear it, then said in a calm voice, "You were fighting?"

"Boxing," he replied casually. "We were at a gym to see somebody and we started talking about different boxing styles and then we figured we'd demonstrate 'em to each other in the ring. We had the gloves on and everything. I was dancing around and ol' Hardcase was growling at me to stand still and then we wound up taking a shot at each other at the same time. I pulled my punch, but he miscalculated or something and bam!" Mark rubbed his jaw ruefully. "I looked up and he was standing there like somebody'd hit him with a two by four! I never saw a guy look so surprised."

Sarah had slowly straightened up from the dishwasher while Mark talked; now she thinned her lips and fixed him with a steely gaze. "Do you mean to tell me you two were fighting but you thought he wasn't really going to hit you?" She flipped a hand in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

Hardcastle stepped quietly through the kitchen door and answered, "Well, I wasn't going to hit him with everything I had. But then he stepped into it with his own swing."

"Yeah," followed up McCormick, "he stood still and I took a step forward and this happened." He pointed to the bruise. "But it was an accident, Sarah. Honest."

"He swung at you, intending to hit you, but it was an accident?" Sarah sniffed irritably. "Honestly, men! How typical. Brawling for fun, trying to hit each other. Didn't either of you think that one of you might get hurt? No, of course not," she answered herself. "You didn't think at all, did you?"

The judge shrugged. "Okay, maybe it was kinda dumb. Yeah, all right," he added in response to Sarah's snort. "It was little kid stuff."

"One of you, or both, could have been seriously hurt!" She tapped a toe rapidly, arms crossed and a fiercely irritated expression on her face. "Do you realize how either of you would feel if you managed to injure the other?"

The two people burdened with testosterone looked at each other sheepishly out of the corners of their respective eyes.

Suddenly Sarah relaxed her stance and sighed. "Oh, I give up. It's just different, I know. Your Honor," she turned to Hardcastle, "I apologize for being hasty in my assumptions. You probably didn't mean to hurt Mark. Did you?"

"Well, no, not seriously. I guess I didn't think about it much," he answered hesitantly. "I mean, a coupla punches, a little wrasslin' around . . ."

"Yeah," McCormick chipped in. "Kinda fun, ya know? Some fancy footwork and a few jabs. The manly art of fisticuffs, see?" He assumed a fighter's stance, hands cocked.

Sarah sighed again. "Hopeless. _Men_," she repeated. "Just don't let me see you 'boxing' around here. And if either of you gets hurt again, don't come crying to me about it. Now," she looked for her apron, found it, and tied it around her. "Oatmeal raisin cookies or chocolate chip?"

"Oatmeal!" voted Hardcastle.

"Chocolate chip!" vetoed Mark.

The judge looked at his housekeeper, then at McCormick. "I'll arm-wrestle you for it," he said slyly.

_finis_


End file.
